


Those Things You Don't Say

by Walkerbaby



Series: HAMILTON SHORT STORIES AND ONE SHOTS [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Historical, M/M, Mind Reading, One shot request, Sweetness, Whamilton - Freeform, unintentional organic drug usage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-06 21:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkerbaby/pseuds/Walkerbaby
Summary: They're stuck inside at Valley Forge and everyone is cold and tired and hungry and suddenly? Suddenly George can read his Chief of Staff's mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr Annonymous Request: I wish you would write a fic where George can read Alexander's mind.  
> If you're curious what I was listening to when I wrote this? https://play.spotify.com/track/2zJg8XalfDn85D8zn9zYyO?play=true&utm_source=open.spotify.com&utm_medium=open

I love you.

The words were so soft in his mind he thought he had misheard them. Surely his Chief of Staff had not…

He looked up at and saw the young man with his head bent to his work, his entire being focused on his letter to Congress. He took a sip of the lukewarm cup of tea Alexander had put at his elbow a half hour before, urging him to drink it-- even though he didn’t like the taste-- because one of the healers had made it up special for the slight cough he was developing. 

They will not give us what we need. They want us to fail. They want you to fail. Oh my love, they’ve set this up so that it fails because they are afraid of what will happen if we win. We’re given rule to a Parliament of cowards and they will be our undoing. 

He stared at Alexander. It was definitely his Chief of Staff’s voice, quietly whispering as if he were cradled in George’s lap like a young belle whispering a secret to her beaux. Except Alexander was across the room, his body curled into a tight shell as he tried to write and conserve his warmth, his scarf bundled around his neck and over his head like a woman’s shawl to keep his delicately shaped ears warm. He should have been closer to the fire. His position awarded him a place at the desk closest to George’s own, a place near the fire to keep him warm. A second cloak or a horse blanket if he needed it. 

Instead, he’d put young Woolsey in front of the fire with a slate and a mathematics primer that Alexander had found in an abandoned school when they’d been on the march. He’d given the boy strict orders to see to the problems Alexander had set for him and, when he was done with his ciphers, Alexander would check them and they would move on to Latin and then Greek. Alexander was determined that the boy would have at least some schooling before the war was over— going so far as to write letters to the men who had brought him to the colonies and suggest that when the war was won they might wish to help him pay for Woolsey’s schooling as well. George knew that he had a small bag of coins set aside, a few precious pieces of copper going into it each time the Congress saw fit to pay them, so that Alexander could eventually pay Woolsey’s tuition at a proper school.

He could have still taken the desk closest to the fire and stayed warm but he’d argued that Tilghmann had a cough that sounded as if it might be moving into an ague and he’d gone for a poultice for the other man and then settled him at what should have— by rights— been Alexander’s desk with two extra blankets and a pair of moth eaten gloves. The next desk had Trumbull— who’d taken part in the night’s watch and was shivering. 

It would be unseemly to let the cousin of King Louis of France catch a chill. 

Major Laurens had just arrived back in camp after a two day ride and Alexander was sure his feet were blocks of ice. 

Even Tallmadge— who George suspected Alexander did not particularly care for— had been given a better place in the tiny cabin that housed his command. 

So the voice that George heard? The voice could be nothing more than the wind and fairies, preying upon the weakness of his mind. 

You look as though something has made you angry. Is it your teeth? I know they ache in the cold. I’ll get up and see about getting a pot of tea for everyone. The New Yorkers are near the cook tents. I’ll see Peg Grady and retrieve a powder to relieve the pain. Maybe some liniment for your joints. Your old injury always gets stiff in this sort of weather. 

He shook his head and took another sip of tea. He was hearing things. Voices in the wind. Not that he should be surprised, with the way it was snowing, often it felt as if their little command post was the only building left on the continent. 

I’ll need to remind you to write to Lady Washington, the voice in his head whispered.  It has been three weeks since you have written her. She’ll be expecting your recommendations on whether she should travel to join the Army over the summer. She’ll expect balls and entertainments. You’ll want me to consult with General Greene to find out when Lady Greene is arriving so that the two ladies will be here together. We’ll have to camp somewhere that Lady Greene can hold a ball. I’ll need Billy Lee to make sure you’re dress uniform is mended, the coat has a tear in the seam. 

The voice certainly sounded like his fussy Chief of Staff. Alexander… He doted on Martha when she was in camp. At first George had thought the boy had an infatuation with his wife. Alexander was always eager to make sure that she was in the most comfortable quarters and that anything she might request be waiting on her. Last summer he’d arranged with Lafayette to have some sort of fancy French soap available and had a man from the artillery rig some sort of device to the tub to keep her bathwater warm. 

Martha had told him she felt like Alexander was trying to parboil her, but she’d used it every time she had a bath. 

George had grit his teeth and prepared to remind Alexander that Lady Washington was just that—  Lady Washington — when Martha had smacked him across the back of the head and scoffed at him. She was old enough to be Alexander’s mother. Then he’d watched and seen the way she patted Alexander’s shoulder, the way the young man was eager for her praise. He’d seen Martha come downstairs one evening and order Alexander to his bed, kissing his forehead when he conceded that perhaps he was a bit tired, and then seen the young man rub his eyes. 

“He thinks of you as a mother,” he’d said when they reached their rooms. “He’s not flirting with you, he’s…”

“Of course he’s not flirting with me,” Martha had grinned at him in the mirror. “There are plenty of young belles around for Alexander to flirt with. To romp with as well if the gossip in camp is to be believed. The poor boy is quite literally being hunted by some of them. I blame the uniform. He’s a fetching boy in a uniform and the colors do suit his pretty coloring.” 

“I…” 

“If he were a daughter instead of a son you’d have to stand guard over him with a musket.” 

“If he were a daughter he would not be my Chief of Staff.” 

“Because a woman cannot take correspondence?” 

“Because he’s far too pretty for the likes of the men in this Army.”

“You may want to mention that to Major Laurens,” Martha chuckled. “Because, with the way he was staring tonight, I think he finds our young Alexander just pretty enough.” 

“They… He… Alexander would not…” 

“They are young men, in an Army camp, without ladies about,” Martha said, her eyebrow raised. 

George had sobered then. It wasn’t as if the idea was foreign to him. Plenty of men did that. He’d partaken himself, when he was younger. After all, it wasn’t as if there was a way to stop his bodily urges from happening and sometimes such things could only be ignored so long— especially when one was young— and everyone needed the tenderness of another’s touch to keep them sane. 

But Alexander? Alexander and Major Laurens? No. Young Laurens was too spoiled. Too sure of himself and the perfection of his own form to be the type of private friend that someone like Alexander needed. He would be the sort to use Alexander for his own pleasure without offering any in return. He would use their connection to gain preferment and when the war was over he wouldn’t care for Alexander’s finer feelings. 

It would be better perhaps if Alexander would strike up a friendship with the Marquis. The other man was worldly, rich, but tender— a sensitive lad who doted on the others as much as Alexander did. He would take care of Alexander. Love him. Over time, after the war, their arrangement would become a friendship that lasted throughout their lives, a bittersweet remembrance of what they’d once had faded into casual affection over time. 

I wish she would not come. I wish she would stay in Mount Vernon. Stay there and be Lady Washington and leave you here with me. 

He stared at Alexander. 

The young man must have felt George’s eyes open him and lifted his head. “Sir?” 

“Yes, Son?” 

Do not call me son, the voice answered in his head, sounding wounded.  Of all the things I want from you, to be your son is not one of them. 

“Do you need something, Sir?” Alexander’s voice startled him. 

He had never understood why Alexander resisted his affection. Most of the young men craved a surrogate father to praise them, an older man to provide them with a quiet courage to keep them strong in the face of danger. Alexander wanted none of it though. It confused George. Alexander was an orphan who responded to Martha’s mothering but would not let George act the role of father, even though half the camp suspected the younger man was his actual bastard. 

He’d heard Alexander confront the rumor once. “While I could not think of a man who would not be honored to have His Excellency as a father, I would not insult General Washington by speaking his name and that of the wretch who fathered me in the same breath. Noble though he may be, my father is not fit to lick the inside of General Washington’s chamber pot.” 

Martha had simply shook her head when George failed to understand. 

“No.” George shook his head as he continued to stare at Alexander. “I was simply wondering if you would perhaps like to move closer to the fire?” 

“I…” 

“Come.” George beckoned him forward and Alexander stood, hurrying over to his desk. He put the back of his reddened hand against George’s tea and his eyes widened. “It’s gone cold. I’ll get some warm water and—”

“Alexander.” George stared at him. “Do you hate me so much?” 

“Sir?”  How can you ask such a thing?  The voice sounded wounded.  I would happily die just to see you smile at me.

He swallowed as his heart thumped in his chest. 

His Chief of Staff was a handsome young man. Lean and muscled, his deer pelt hair coming loose upon his shoulders. If George was not mindful of his position he’d be half in love with the young man already. He would hide him away, keep him from those pretty belles in search of husbands, and keep him for George’s eyes alone. Alexander was soft and delicate and so very sensitive. He needed a private friend who would appreciate such things. A man who would be gentle with him. A man well aware of the finer points of loving so that the sweet young man in front of him was well sated. 

“The tea.” George coughed. “It tastes as though a witch has brewed it in one of Trumbull’s socks.” 

The rest of the aides tittered and George saw Trumbull’s lips quirk upwards. “That’s because Hammie brewed it in one of my socks.” 

“I think it may be the mushrooms that Peg put in it, Sir. She said they had a bit of a tang to them but they would help prevent a fever.” 

“A tang may be the best word to describe it.” George stared at his Chief of Staff. 

“She assured me that this would keep you from coughing, Sir.” 

“Fine.” George sighed, a touch melodramatically to let his Chief of Staff that he was agreeing very reluctantly. “Pour me another cup.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” Alexander nodded and moved over to the fire to retrieve some water from the kettle kept boiling there. 

Thank you, my love. I could not bear to see you suffering when I could prevent it. 

“Would anyone else like something warm to drink?” Alexander looked around the room. 

George cleared his throat and made a point of looking at his pocket watch. “If you gentlemen would like to make your way to the cook tents, I think we might all call it a day.” 

“Sir.” The men said as they all began to stopper their ink and clean their quills. 

“Hamilton, if you could stay behind?” 

“Sir.” His Chief of Staff didn’t even look up from preparing George’s tea. 

“Woolsey, leave your slate and I’ll check it over before I go to my tent tonight.” 

“But Hammie—” 

“Woolsey,” he interrupted the boy’s whine. “Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton is generous enough to see to your schooling in camp, you should be grateful.” 

“I am Sir,” the boy muttered, rubbing his nose. “I’m just not good at ciphering. Not like Hammie. I mean Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton.” 

“I have had significantly more practice,” Alexander said, patting the boy’s shoulder. “Besides, you’re getting much better at long division.” 

George grimaced. He’d hated long division as a child. 

“I’ll bring some supper back to the cabin for you Hammie,” Woolsey said, his voice soft. “I mean Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, Sir.” 

“Go on with you,” Alexander said and ruffled the boy’s wheat colored hair. “And mind you change your socks when you get to the cabin, the last thing we need is you catching a chill.” 

“Come on Woolsey,” Trumbull called out from where he was clumped with the others by the door. “Otherwise he’ll make you wash your hands and put on another jumper before he lets you go outside to play ball.” 

George saw his Chief of Staff stick his tongue out at Trumbull and cross his eyes and the other man returned the school boy gesture. George stifled a laugh as he watched their antics. 

Once the other men had left, Alexander finished preparing his tea and passed it to George. 

“You’re quite good with him,” George said. “Woolsey.” 

“Oh.” Alexander shuffled his feet. “He’s a good boy, he just needs some guidance.” 

“Does he remind you of your younger brothers perhaps?” George asked, curious if Alexander would finally open up about his past. 

“I don’t have any younger brothers,” Alexander answered.  Just James and heavens knows if I’d have tried to care for him he’d have clouted my ear. 

“James?” George asked.

“What?” Alexander looked at him. 

“I thought you had a brother named James. Someone must have mentioned it once.” 

“Oh.” Alexander stared at him. “I do. But James is older than I am.”

“And is he fighting among us?”

“No.” Alexander shook his head. “He’s back home. In St. Croix.” 

He probably hasn’t thought of me since Mr. Crueger sent him to work with Old Tom at his cabinet shop. 

“Did you need something, Sir?” Alexander prompted. 

George stared at him and cleared his throat again. “I was just… I wanted to see if there was anything you needed Hamilton. You do so much to take care of the others. You keep me in order and I know that I am not always the easiest to work with. Plus you’ve taken to caring for Woolsey and seeing to his schooling. You do as much as ten other men in this army with no thought for yourself.” 

I would happily do more if you asked it,  the voice George was certain was Alexander said inside his head.  I would do anything you asked. 

George felt himself stiffen at the longing in the other man’s voice and tried to ignore the way Alexander’s eyes had always made him a bit breathless. “I just… I know that you do not care for yourself as you should but if there is anything you need or that you desire…” 

I desire you,  the voice said.  I desire the taste of you on my lips and your touch on my skin. I love you so much. If only you would just see that. 

Before he could think, George pulled his Chief of Staff close, pressing their lips together, his tongue licking into Alexander’s mouth. 

The other man’s voice went silent in his head as Alexander sighed against his lips and pressed closer. 

“Sir.” 

“I think, perhaps, when we are alone, you might consent to call me George.” 

“George.” Alexander shuddered in his arms. “How did you—” 

There was a clattering on the front step and the door flew open. 

George jerked away from Alexander and they both turned, eyes wide to stare at Tilghmann.

“Sir. We’ve a bit of a situation.” 

“A situation?” 

“Seems one of the herb women has been peddling a fever tea.” 

“Peg Grady,” Alexander answered. “I got some of it for His Excellency.” 

“Don’t drink it,” Tilghmann said, his eyes wide. 

“I’ve been drinking—”

“She got her mushrooms confused,” Tilghmann said. “Half the men in camp suddenly think they can read each other’s mind and the rest are seeing naked ladies on sun drenched shores.”

“I…” George stared at Alexander. Had he been hallucinating that he heard Alexander’s voice in his head this whole time? But how could he have known such things about him if… 

Go away Tench. Even if His Excellency doesn’t remember this in the morning, I will, and I desperately want to be kissed again. 

Well, that settled it then. For tonight, George would do what the hallucination in his brain told him to. Tomorrow, he’d blame it on the drugged tea he’d been given. 

“Lieutenant Colonel Tilghmann,” George said, his voice firm. “Please arrange quarantine for the men who are showing symptoms. Then, arrange another place for the staff to work tomorrow.” 

“Sir?” Tilghmann looked at him, confused. 

“Since Hamilton and I have both already been exposed to the drug, we’ll quarantine here.” 

“I…” 

Alexander’s eyes widened and George watched as he took the cold cup of tea from George’s desk and took a tiny sip. 

“Sir.” Tilghmann nodded. 

“Dismissed.” He watched as the other man hurried from the cabin and then turned back to Alexander. “Now. Where were we?” 

Kissing. We were most definitely kissing. 

Indeed,  he thought as he reached for Alexander’s waist and pulled him close, pressing their lips together again.  And when we’re done kissing? I intend to find out just how creative of a young man you truly are.

“You.” Alexander gasped as George began laying open mouthed kisses down his neck, nosing aside his cravat and high collar. “You have no idea.” 

 


End file.
